


kick the tragedy

by General_Syndulla



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-09-01 19:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Syndulla/pseuds/General_Syndulla
Summary: Will is sick with anxiety, but Mike knows just how to calm his nerves.





	kick the tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> story soundtrack is drop nineteens' kick the tragedy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HB7iPiFExN4
> 
> borrowed some words, too. ;)

Will was sick, but that wouldn’t be much of a surprise to anyone that knew him. He had woken up extremely nauseous, to the point of fainting, early that morning, and had been kept in the bed by Mike ever since. Sometimes his worsened condition could be explained by the weather. Other times he knew it was his brain playing tricks on him. Significant dates, stress at work, certain times of the year... Bad memories. Sometimes even hallucinations. Will just got sick. He thought maybe this time it was a phone call from his father. It had been two days before, but Will could feel his anxiety building in him, as he thought about the conversation over and over in the days since. Lonnie’s disparaging comments and empty promises, promises that had lasted from eight years old to well into his 20s. Mike could sense it too, the way Will was the uncomfortable kind of quiet at dinner, the way he fell asleep much too early, the way Will often had a far off look in his big, dark eyes. Mike wished his father wouldn’t call at all, but something in Will wouldn’t let him go. 

But that was all in the past now, and Mike was helping Will to forget for this moment. Helping him to relax.

_the time has really flown by i guess and it's hard to think of the way it might've been, or remember very specifically the words and all the rest of it. . . ._

Mike had to help Will tie up his long, dark hair after he hadn’t been able to keep down his breakfast, light as it was. It was almost to his waist now, and Mike had braided the sides and woven them in with the double bun he had tied up on the back of his head. But it was coming undone now, as he shifted back against Mike’s chest. Just as easily as Will was coming undone. Mike gently hushed him. 

_i was down, more than i wanted to be probably. that had more to do with it all together, like the orange trees in the backyard, and it's easter, and it just won't end. . . ._

He had done all he could to help Will relax, help his brain slow down so his stomach could catch up. He played his guitar and sang Will’s favorite Pretenders songs, tried to imitate Chrissie Hynde, until Will had begged him to stop in fits of giggles. He switched to Jesus and Mary Chain instead. Mike had read him their favorites from Oscar Wilde, and Will had quietly recited his favorite parts along with him, half asleep at most points. Will shifted against his broad chest again, making a soft sound. Mike murmured reassurances in his ear, gently hushed him. 

_and i’m just sitting here getting more and more lost with everything. . . ._

Where Mike had grown wider and even a little burlier over the years, Will had just gotten longer. Will was still smaller than him, but so skinny and wiry that doctors sometimes worried about his weight. Mike had grown longer hair, more freckles, toned muscles. Will just got taller and his hair grew with him. Mike liked the way he fit in his lap, like now, liked the way he was svelte and fey. Feminine in his big eyes and long hair, but with some masculinity in his broadened shoulders, his hands and feet. Mike thought he was perfect, even when Will didn’t. There had been movies and albums on a constant playback in the background the whole day. Mike had rolled their television set in, and moved the record player onto the chair by the windowsill. Quietly humming the songs to him and saying the best lines as sunlight streamed in. Will had dozed and been sick a few more times, but Mike could tell it was working. The Empire Strikes Back was on now, but long forgotten as Mike touched him. 

The sun setting outside cast the room in a warm glow. Wove his fingers down his lover’s tired and soft body. Worked steadily between his slender thighs. 

_it was like nobody could share my so called dreams, which really meant none of it was happening, and that reach around midnight left me with just about that, nothing. . . ._

One of Mike’s hands softly stroked Will’s hip, thumbing over the jutting bone there. The other stroked up and down his most sensitive part so gently, his wrist brushing against his navel. Will was wet in his hand and shuddered against him, never speaking but showing his pleasure in the way he gripped Mike’s thighs through the flannel of his pajama pants, the way he tilted his head back onto his shoulder. Mike watched him carefully in case he needed to stop, the pace he set languid and almost achingly slow. Will wouldn’t like it if he went too fast, especially not in this state. His touch was like silk on Will’s tired body. Gentle, teasing, but felt so good. Will’s only sound was an occasional whimper, different from the way he cried when he was asleep, the way he winced when his head pounded. It was a sound of pleasure, like a sweet melody. It made Mike’s heart swell to hear it and know he was the reason for it. 

_there’s not anything particular about it either, and i think that the whole thing gets vaguer every second, but i am too and there's nothing wrong with that. . . ._

Will would insist he didn’t need such gentle handling. Not to treat him like he would shatter. Mike would honor that, but only to the letter. Will tired out easily and they both knew it. Mike knew softness and sweetness like this was better suited for him. His slender form nestled against Mike’s, planes of trim muscle rippling beneath his core and arms as he touched him so sensitively. Mike was warm where Will was cold, firm where he was soft. Opposites really do attract. 

His narrow hips trembled under Mike’s hands, his breaths shallow and wheezy. Not with sickness or exhaustion, not now, but with excitement and anticipation. The difference was minute, and Mike could always pick up on it. ‘Mike...’ Will’s voice, as soft as petals on a flower, was somehow deafeningly loud in Mike’s ear. Mike pressed smooth kisses to his neck, under his ear where the skin was often cool. Mike’s lips teased along the beauty marks on Will’s neck and shoulder, warm kisses on his shivering skin. Mike mumbled more soothings, reassurances that he was right there and it was all alright. Quiet and tender words. 

_it’s even funny when you stop to realize i’m just nineteen, and how serious can anything be anyway. . . . ?_

It was all Will needed. With a shiver Mike felt him throb in his hand, felt him spill over. His body tensed, his back pressed to Mike’s chest and his knuckles white as they fisted in the fabric of Mike’s pants. Will sighed breathily with a quiet moan, sounding instantly relaxed, like everything had been lifted off him. Mike felt fulfilled. He grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and gently wiped them both clean, still softly stroking a few more times before letting go and fixing Will’s baggy pajama pants back into place. Mike’s fingertips stroked up his weakened body, and with the trailing touches, Will felt all his stress wither away. Mike held him gently into his chest. Will’s eyelids fluttered as he nestled in against him, listened to the beat of his heart. With every exhale, Will’s body settled into Mike’s, melting together like a candle burning to the bottom of its wick. Mike gently cradled him across his lap and against himself, his strong arms able to wrap him up completely, make him feel like nothing could get him, like it was only him and Mike in this world. Not the Mind Flayer, not his father, or the darkness or any of his other fears and anxieties. Just Will Byers and Mike Wheeler, together in this bed. 

_. . . .not very._

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something comforting and sweet with these two because I just adore them so much. I love the way Will seems to pine for Mike, or maybe that's just my shippy glasses. I also want to note that these depictions of Mike and Will are based on a mid-'90s post-college AU I have, as usual, developed privately... So they may seem a little weird. Sorry about that! :) Mike and Will are around 25 years old in this story. I hope it was as enjoyable a read as it was to write. Thank you.


End file.
